


Erotic Targets

by sister_dear



Category: Transformers, Transformers Generation One
Genre: G1, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_dear/pseuds/sister_dear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Autobots find Ratchet's paintjob to be kinky. Old kink meme fill, contains uninvited groping and Ratchet being a sneak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erotic Targets

No one knew exactly who started it, but the game caught on quick. It was a rite of passage, an ongoing prank, a test of reflexes. Everyone knew that Ratchet had uncanny aim. Anyone who could grab one of Ratchet’s few red bits got one point. Anyone who could grab one of Ratchet’s red bits without getting walloped in return gained five points.

Really, the participants reasoned, any mech who walked around with a paint job like that was just asking to be groped.

Not everyone on base got involved. Most of the bots who did went for his hands. The more daring bots sometimes targeted his hip. Jazz managed to nail his chevron and get away without a return hit, which—-despite the fact that the body part in question was gray, not red—-everyone agreed deserved an outstanding award of seven points.

Ratchet handled the whole thing remarkably well, all things considered. Prowl seemed to be more bothered by it than the ‘victim’ himself. Prime offered to put a stop to it, but the medic said he didn’t mind; so far, no one had been stupid enough to make a grab when he was in the middle of a delicate operation, and Ratchet himself was winning the game, if he got a point for every mech he managed to hit back.

Then someone got bold.

o

Ratchet jumped, spinning around. Whoever had just grabbed him timed it well; the rec room was full but apparently no one had noticed, and none of the Autobots nearby looked guilty. Ratchet resisted the urge wipe away the lingering feeling of a hand on his aft and continued across the room, intent on getting his energon.

It happened again the next day. The day after that, it happened twice, the incidents close enough together that Ratchet doubted it was just a single mech. Whoever they were, they were being careful; Ratchet hadn’t caught them yet.

The next time it happened, the culprit wasn’t so lucky. Prowl was in the room and Ratchet was just waving him a good morning when someone felt him up from behind. Prowl’s relaxed posture switched over to righteous fury in an instant. Ratchet heard someone behind him curse right before the second in command snarled “Sideswipe!” loudly enough for half the room to hear.

o

Ratchet and Wheeljack were working in the lab together when Prime’s voice came over the ship-wide comm, solemnly delivering a lecture about respect and dignity and personal space to everyone in the Ark.

When Prime was done and they were working in silence once more, Wheeljack slapped his friend on the shoulder. At some point during the speech Ratchet had started to grin, though he seemed to be trying to hide it. Wheeljack, not wanting his companion to feel ashamed for a rightful sense of vindication, said, “Well now. They deserved that; things were going a little too far. Every mech has a right to his own body.”

Ratchet’s grin morphed from timidly smug to an all out smirk. He leaned in close, pitching his voice for his friend’s audio receptors only. “Wheeljack,” he murmured, “I’m a medic. What is the most finely tuned tool on a medic’s body?”

Wheeljack’s optics dimmed, his equivalent of a contemplative frown. Ratchet wriggled his fingers. The inventor jerked, vocal indicators flashing vividly in time with his spluttering.

“All this time- everyone’s been grabbing your hands, thinking...”

Ratchet folded his arms over his windshield, self-satisfied smile answer enough.


End file.
